Leather Conditioner and Bittersweet Iced Tea
by dr pepper upper
Summary: I was not prepared for reality. In reality, when he left, there was no fire. There was no thunder. There was no lightning. When Leonard McCoy left my side, there was no blood or screaming. No. All it did was rain. Jim/Bones
1. It Rained

**A.N: Hey everyone! I had this idea… And this is the starting point. I'm actually not really sure where I'm going with this, but I'm slowly formulating some kind of story here. I'm PRETTY sure that this will all be in Jim's point of view. I know this is confusing for a starter, but stay with me! The next part will, I hope, make things a bit clearer. Happy reading!**

* * *

Since the moment he followed me off that shuttle and onto Starfleet Academy grounds, I had this… Idea. This idea that he would follow me to the ends of the universe; be right there, one step behind me.

He pushed me away, he called me 'kid', and he swore and was grumpy all the time. But he was a doctor and he had good whiskey and that was all that really mattered.

No matter how many times I pissed him off, he came back.

No matter how many times I got drunk, he helped me home.

No matter how many times I got myself beat up, he fixed me.

No matter how many times I landed in the hospital, he was there when I woke up.

No matter how many times we fought, he forgave me before I asked.

No matter how many times I walked away, he pulled me back.

No matter how many times I fell, he got me back to my feet.

That was why I had that crazy idea that he would be with me all the time. I thought he would come into space, me as a captain and him as my CMO and we'd be able to sit in each other's room and drink and talk like usual. He would be there to pick me up and help me to Medical Bay. He'd be able to fix me up. He'd save me.

That's why I thought the only time he would leave me was when we had no other choice. He was my best friend; I would do all I could to keep him, my crew, and my ship safe. I would sacrifice myself and only _then_ would he leave my side. I thought he would leave because I would want him to, because I wanted to keep him safe. Him leaving would end in a clash of thunder and a jolt of lighting when there was no hope left. I would go down a hero, sacrificing myself in a rage of fire and blood and screams from my enemy. Then and only then, as my crazy fantasy went, he would only leave me. I was not prepared for reality. In reality, when he left, there was no fire. There was no thunder. There was no lightning. When Leonard McCoy left my side, there was no blood or screaming. No.

All it did was rain.


	2. Hallelujahs and Hate

**Notes: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!! :D So, I'm giving you the present of a very early update. Your present can be feedback! I hope you enjoy this chapter… I have some ideas for this fic, I hope you'll be patient with me while I work some things out in my head. This is more of a filler chapter than anything. I'll get into the nitty gritty soon enough. Hope you enjoy!**

_Maybe there's a God above_

_And all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_

_It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah._

There was cheering and crying and flashing lights. Crew from the _Enterprise_ flooded out from their shuttles and ran onto the Academy grounds. In retrospect, Jim knew he shouldn't have been so surprised because somewhere in the back of his mind he _knew_ they were going to be welcomed back home like this.

He just didn't expect to be so overwhelmed by it. The noise, after being in the quiet shuttle, was deafening. No one spoke on the way back to Earth, each of us bound by the silence of mourning, of uncertainty of the future. Everyone except Bones, who had leaned near Jim when he buckled himself in and said in an easy, familiar way, "I may throw up on you." Jim had laughed despite his own sullen mood and everything seemed okay.

It really wasn't. He wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions that bombarded them like one fucking grenade when they walked off of that shuttle. He had saved Earth and all the other Federation planets. He faced certain death and he had pissed Spock off (which Jim thought was scarier than facing Nero himself). He was one Goddamned _hero_ but he still wasn't prepared for their welcome home.

Crewmembers were running to their families. Jim watched Uhura drag Spock over to a group of people that he could only pin as her family. He watched Chekov bound into the arms of who _had_ to be his mother, sobbing incoherently in Russian. Sulu was practically tackled by two young girls that were either his sisters or cousins or some other distant family member. He was almost blinded by the smiles around him, the sun glancing off of the happy faces and shining into his face. Jim saw other family members that weren't so lucky. A dull stab of pain made him grimace, hate himself and go over what he _could_ have done better. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, since no one was there to welcome _him_ with open arms.

_At least I'm not alone __**there**_, Jim thought to myself as he looked around. Bones would be standing like he was, Jim was _sure_. His wife had abandoned him three years ago, taking everything he had, including his daughter. He didn't know anything else about his family beyond that, but since they never visited him and he never spoke of them, Jim figured he was in the same position as he was. He thought Bones had the same outlook on family, which was a straight-up middle finger in their faces. So, with all this in mind, Jim turned to find his friend and felt like he was punched in the gut at the sight of him.

He was_ smiling_, damn it. Smiling the smile that just fucking said 'I could die right now and I would die happy'. He was smiling _the_ smile; the smile _Jim_ could never get out of him. Jim had known him for _three_ Goddamn _years_ and he had yet to get him to smile like that.

For all the emotions rushing through him, Jim wasn't really expecting to feel jealousy and anger as the most prominent ones. Bones stood there, happy as a fucking _clam_, a little girl in his arms. She was clinging to him and sobbing and laughing all at once and he was doing the same. A pretty woman stood by him, a hand on his arm as she smiled too.

Was that The _Ex_? Oh, _hell_ no. _Well. Aren't __**they**__ a happy family?_ Jim never hated the word 'family' as much as he did that moment.

And then Bones turned and looked at him, his blinding smile fading as they locked eyes. _Yeah, thanks asshole. Don't look so damn surprised. Yeah. I'm __**still**__ here._ Jim must have been glaring or something because Bones turned away, back to his _family_ and the smile was turned on again, full-wattage.

Correction: Jim never hated the word 'family' as much as he did right _then_.

So. Jim's best friend apparently made up with his ex _and_ turned his back on Jim in all of three fucking minutes. That kind of hurt worse than every birthday his own mom isn't there for. It kind of hurt worse than every holiday she only sends him a message and a pre-wrapped present. Now, Jim's not a mama's boy, but still. That shit _hurts_. He got used to it after a while, though. He drowned it out with sex and bar fights until Bones, _fucking_ Leonard McCoy, came along.

Bones started to fix Jim up, started to put a limit to how much he drank. He started to give Jim standards and rules. He was more like a father to him than his step dad, who wasn't really like a father at all, anyway. Bones never once turned Jim away, not even after he made him wake up just to patch Jim up again when he had a shift at the hospital early in the morning. Sure, Bones grumbled and grouched and swore at Jim _and_ poked him 'til he was twice as sore as he was before, but he never turned Jim away. He never left like so many others had.

Even as Jim watched Bones' retreating back, his little girl clinging to his neck and his free arm around his ex-wife, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Bones was _really_ doing what everyone else did.

He was _walking away_.

* * *

Jim managed to push through the sea of reporters that wanted to know _all_ of the details of their voyage. He didn't punch one of them and _damn_; it was a bad day if that was an accomplishment. He was shaking by the time he got back to his dorm. He was angry and he was tired and he just wanted to smash something.

So, he did.

It didn't help.

So, he smashed something _else_.

Again.

And again.

And _again._

All it did was leave Jim with bloody knuckles and a destroyed room and it wasn't _enough_. Abandonment was a bitter pill to swallow and he hated it. He _hated_ it with every fiber of his body. This time, it was worse. He felt like the strings of his heart had been snipped in half by life's sharpened scissors, newly healed wounds just reopened and were screaming _'Don't trust, never trust'_ at him like a hymn from the Bible, singing the hate thinly veiled by the Hallelujah. And _damn it, _Jim couldn't keep that Hallelujah there forever.

He stood up, grabbed his jacket and stalked out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to piss off those guys at the bar.

It wasn't so easy getting back to his dorm on his own, beat up and bleeding. The fight took some of the anger out of Jim, though, so it worked better than smashing everything in sight.

But it _definitely_ wasn't good when he found Bones standing in the middle of the carnage that he had turned their room into. He leveled Jim with a cold stare that he returned and Jim could swear the room dropped about twenty degrees. Maybe Bones set the room cold. Maybe Jim was losing his mind. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

"Jim." He hated his voice. He hated his face. He hated his clothes, his body, the way he was standing and even the way he was breathing. Everything about him pissed Jim off so much that he had to clench his hands in fists to keep from throwing himself at him. He hated the way Bones brought his hand to his head, the way he rubbed at his temples. Jim hated the way Bones looked at him, like he didn't know what to do with Jim, like he didn't know what to say. "Jim, what the hell happened?" He hated his blood. He hated his eyes. He hated his mouth. He hated his hands. He hated his legs. He hated his arms.

"Jim!" Jim hated his Goddamned fingernails. He hated each and every freckle that didn't exist on Bones' face. "Damn it, man, answer me!"

Jim snapped.

"You're not the _captain_. You can't order me around!" He did his best to block out just how childish that sounded. Bones noticed, though, if the raised eyebrow was anything to go by.

"Kid, you're bloodied up, the room's a Goddamn _mess_ and _you're_ sayin' you won't answer me?" Jim hated his Southern accent most of all. Good God, it was the most irritating thing he'd ever heard in his _whole_ life.

"You can't order me around, _Doctor_," Jim sneered at him, moving past him and slamming Bones clumsily with his shoulder. Before Jim could walk past Bones, the doctor grabbed a hold of his shirt and hauled him back.

"Damn it, kid! Tell me what's going on!" Good, good. Bones _deserved_ to be angry. Jim's drunken mind was getting a whole lot of pleasure out of Bones' raised voice. If Jim had been sober, he would have seen the red rims around Bones' eyes. He would have heard the extra gruffness in Bones' voice. He would have picked up on Bones' own discomfort. Jim was too wrapped up in his anger and Bones' abandonment that he wouldn't have cared anyway. Jim was too drunk to actually _notice_.

"I'm not a kid! Stop treating me like one! I'm your fucking _captain_! Show some respect," he retorted, yelling now, shoving Bones' hand off of his shoulder and began to walk past him again. Bones was angry, too, and Jim had to grin when he shoved him back, scowl present on Bones' face.

"I'll show some _respect_ when I get some respect from you, _captain_," he hissed, his hands making fists in Jim's shirt as he just laughed at Bones. Hallelujah was gone right out the window and all the hate, all the years of being neglected by his own family came pouring out onto the one person that made up for all of that. Bones was visibly deflating. He always said he could never be angry with Jim for too long. Bones was like a big red balloon; angry and proud and unforgiving in his own right for a while until the little kid pokes a pin at it and he deflates. The kid will go on crying and being angry because that balloon popped, leaving him alone with just the pieces of it.

"C'mon, Jim. Let me get you fixed up, kid." Bones was trying to be reasonable, trying so hard. His Hallelujah was holding, more of a steel wall than Jim's flimsy tissue of a veil in front of the hate. He reached out to grab a hold of Jim's wrist but he jerked away, watching with perverse pleasure as Bones' eyes became dark with uncertainty. "Jim…"

"No, McCoy!" Jim needed to push. He needed to do _something._ He needed to get Bones past that wall of calm. He wanted some kind of fucking reaction and he was so drunk and so hurt that he couldn't bring himself to care much about what this could do to his chances of captaining the _Enterprise_. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to save me because you couldn't save _them_." It was a low blow and Jim knew it. Bones always beat himself up over the patients he couldn't save, over the lives he lost. Jim was always the one to tell Bones it wasn't his fault. Jim was the one who brought him a drink after it all to just forget.

But here he was, throwing Bones' failure in his face and _laughing_. Jim watched as Bones crumbled. His Hallelujah fell with a silent crash, erecting a wall of steel between them, cold with Bones' disbelief and the frigid temperature of the room. "You don't mean that," he said. Jim thought he meant his words to come across as a plea.

It came out as a threat.

Hell if _Jim_ was going to back down now. "You wanna fix something, McCoy?" He watched as Bones' face darkened, as his body tensed, and Jim was ready. "Go on and fix your fucking marriage. You and the Ex can live happily ever after. Does the bitch have a hero-worship thing going on? Bet she'd put out for you _now_, since you're a Goddamned fucking _hero_." That was when Jim felt the jab of a hypospray in his neck. If he said anything after that, he couldn't remember it.

He _did_ remember waking up to a clean room.

He _did_ remember feeling like ten types of shit when he realized that Bones wasn't there.

He _did_ remember the rain pouring in through his open window.


	3. Blue Eyes Cryin'

**A.N: So, yeah, I'm doing P.O.V change. First person just wasn't doing it for me. But anyway, here's another angst!fest for you, unfortunately. It'll get better sometimes, I promise!**

* * *

_And it sure ain't easin' my pain, all these songs like..._

_"Rainy Night In Georgia" and "Kentucky Rain"_

_"Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again",_

_**"Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Early Morning Rain"**_

_They go on and on and there's no two the same_

_Oh it would be easy to blame all these songs about rain_

Bones' avoidance of Jim was obvious and, for Jim's part, unwelcome. He was used to that routine by now, as it had been repeated enough times when they fought or had some kind of awkward, drunk moment. Jim was okay with it at first and backed off, giving Bones the space he needed. He busied himself with classes, drinking and seducing unsuspecting cadets and it was okay. Well, it was okay until Jim started noticing a disturbing pattern.

Of course, Jim Kirk was well known for his ability to pick out patterns. So, what he didn't get was why Bones was so obvious about it. Every time Jim would approach him, his comm. would conveniently go off or he would "hear" someone calling his name and Bones would practically sprint away from Jim. Jim really had to restrain himself from running after Bones to confront him. _He'll come back. He always comes back._ Jim repeated those same two sentences in his head like a mantra for one week. Before, their record of not talking, speaking or looking at each other was four days.

Jim hadn't heard a word out of Bones' mouth for one. Fucking. Week. Hell, he'd barely seen the guy! Bones was either coming back to their room _really_ late or he had found someone else to bunk with while he was pissed off at Jim, which was entirely possible. Still, Jim would have appreciated a note or _something_ to let him know that his best friend wasn't dead. There was nothing and Jim just let it happen. The quiet stretched on, endless as the blue skies in Iowa and he felt like he was being swallowed whole by it.

The avoidance routine was like a dance between Jim and Bones. It was a familiar dance, complicated and exhausting and downright frustrating, but at least it was _familiar_. They were two opposites, water and fire, cold and hot and they clashed. They were always circling each other, weaving in and out, never touching but always cooling or burning or just snuffing out and leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. In Jim's mind, there was an end in sight. Bones would just have to stop running once and Jim would catch him and finally apologize for the words he'd said, the same words that haunted him and ate him alive.

He didn't know what _exactly_ made Bones hate him so damn much suddenly, though it had to have been something that he had said. Jim had been angry and drunk and had most definitely _not_ been rational. He had laughed at Bones' personal failure to save all of his patients. He had taken a jab at his ex-wife. There were lines that friends just didn't cross and Jim _had_ crossed them. All he wanted to do was apologize (which was a lot, coming from Jim) and get back on track.

Bones, however, wouldn't give him the time of day. In fact, it was like Jim didn't even exist to him and that hurt worse than any hypo being jabbed into his neck. When they were in their room together, Bones didn't bat an eyelash at Jim. When they passed in a hallway, all Bones did was tilt the barest centimeter away from Jim's direction. It wasn't much, but it was a reaction and Jim held onto that like a child hugging onto their beloved teddy bear. The last straw for Jim came when he landed himself at Starfleet Medical one night. He was half-expecting to see Bones beside his biobed and get a good shouting-at or he expected someone other than Bones to walk through that door to check up on him.

What Jim wasn't expecting was for Bones to stride confidently over to him and proceed to treat him as if he'd never laid eyes on Jim before. Strangely enough, it wasn't the cool, professional tone in Bones' voice or the way that Bones looked at him without any recognition that made Jim snap. No, it was the hypo. That _goddamned_ hypo wasn't stabbed into his neck like usual. It was _gently_ placed against his neck and he barely felt it when Bones administered the medication.

Bones was _never_ gentle with Jim. He was gentle with his other patients but _never once_ had he taken pity on Jim. He would yell at him until Jim's head felt like it was going to explode from pain and then he would jab a hypospray quite sharply and very painfully into his neck. In their friendship, there was no room for that kind of gentleness. Jim wouldn't respond to it and Bones was always too agitated at Jim and his apparent death wish to be careful with him. He would always utter a not-so genuine apology, however, but Jim would grin and say that he liked it rough.

The gentleness was the last straw, the final clue.

Jim wasn't Jim to Bones. _Can I even call him that anymore?_

He was Captain Kirk. _God, I hate my last name._

He was just another patient. _Fuck hospitals. Fuck doctors. Where's __**Bones**__?_

Jim just stared at Bones-_Doctor Mccoy?-_with his mouth agape, searching with hurt eyes for any flash of irritation, amusement, anger… Anything. All he got back was cold apathy. "Something wrong, captain? Are you hurting anywhere?" In any normal circumstance, feeling Bones' steadying hand on his shoulder would have brought him comfort. Jim was a touchy-feely person, he craved contact and he knew Bones did, too. However, the cool hand on his shoulder just made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He made to get up, but Bones pushed him back on the biobed, explaining that he had a minor concussion and needed to be monitored overnight.

He fell asleep to the dismal sound of rain hitting relentlessly against a nearby windowpane.

* * *

Jim ambushed Bones a week later while the doctor was on his way to start his shift. Jim was waiting in a little alley. He was a little amazed that it had to come down to hiding, waiting for his best friend to walk by so that he could surprise him. What the hell had _happened?_ Bones couldn't _possibly_ be that mad over words that came out of a drunken mouth, there had to be something else, something… Jim didn't want to put the blame all on himself. It was selfish, sure, but there was something about his best friend hating him so much over something he'd said that was unsettling and made his stomach clench horribly.

Jim snapped out of his reverie just in time to catch Bones walking slowly by, reading something on his PADD and completely engrossed in it. Jim darted out, crept up behind him and then yanked Bones back into the alley that he had just come out from. He ducked the wild swing that was aimed at him and clapped his hand over Bones' mouth, silencing the shout of alarm. He waited a moment, pushing Bones firmly against the wall of the alley until he stopped struggling, staring blankly at Jim for a moment.

Jim stared back defiantly and was rewarded with a hint of anger in the familiar eyes. "Before you say anything, Bones," Jim began quickly, his pre-planned speech flying out the window of his mind and fluttering up to join the gray sky above them. "I just want to apologize for what I said… That night. You know. I didn't _mean_ any of it, Bones! I was tired and angry and drunk and _hell_, I'm just… Just sorry. Okay?" He released his hold on Bones, who schooled his expression by that time, and stepped back from the doctor.

"Sorry just ain't gonna cut it, _captain_." Oh, hell, Bones had to have been taking lessons from Uhura, who knew just the way to say 'captain' and make it seem like she was calling him 'asshole' in five hundred different languages. Jim groaned, glad to hear the anger in Bones' voice and the Southern drawl.

"I'm sorry, Bones."

"It's _Doctor McCoy_."

"Oh, _hell_, no!" Oh, damn, did rationality just go out the window too? He was screwed. "You're always going to be Bones to me, _doctor_," Jim informed him, jabbing a finger at Bones' chest just as his communicator went off. Bones looked relieved as he fished the communicator from his coat pocket and scanned over it quickly. With a nod to Jim, Bones started to turn away only to get slammed back into the cold, hard brick wall. "Don't run away again!" Well, Jim wasn't exactly known for his even temper.

"I'm _not_ running away, Kirk. My shift started _five_ minutes ago and you've made me_ late_. Some of us have a _job_ to do, y'know. I have things to do, lives to save." With that, Bones pushed Jim away roughly, stalked out of the alley and went on with his life.

Jim hardly noticed when it started pouring.

* * *

Every time he walked into their room after classes each day, Jim felt like something was off. Each day, the room seemed a bit… Emptier. At first, he thought he had been robbed but after a quick inventory of his valuables, of which there were very few, he found that that wasn't the case. Little things seemed like they were missing and it wasn't just Bones' presence. Bones was still refusing to acknowledge Jim's existence for some reason even after his apology and it was hard to stomach.

Jim was _missing_ something. He was looking at the big picture and couldn't quite figure it out, but it nagged in the back of his head and annoyed the hell out of him. He was an observer, he _noticed_ things and yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what was going on.

He paid close attention to Bones. He was acting stranger than ever before, coming home at much-too-late hours with a limping, exhausted gait and red-rimmed eyes that made him look like he'd been drinking. He never smelled of alcohol, however, and that just confused Jim even more. Whatever was _really_ bothering Bones, he wasn't going to talk about it with Jim like he normally would. It stung and never failed to make Jim frown.

"Don't think so hard, you'll break something," a voice near Jim's shoulder said. At the unexpected sound, Jim jumped a little and turned to look at Uhura who was standing at his side. Jim grimaced a little at her and waved her off, slouching over again and resuming his observation of Bones. He suppressed a groan of frustration when he heard Uhura sit next to him. Whatever hormonal urge was taking over her to make her suddenly nice, or whatever, was unwanted at this time, something Jim tried to convey by very obviously ignoring her. "You know, you could get accused of stalking right now," she commented lightly.

Jim tensed, back going rigid and whipped his head to the side to give Uhura a wild-eyed stare. "I'm not _stalking_. I'm… Observing." At the patented 'you're an idiot' look that she shot him, Jim leaned forward and banged his head on the table a few times to get rid of a little frustration. Being back at the Academy was torture. Bones being so mad at him was torture. Did Uhura _really_ have to make it worse than it already was?

"You're doctor-watching."

"Shut up," he grumbled, placing his head in his hands and sighing deeply. He could feel the calculating stare she was giving him and you know… It really, _really_ wasn't helping. "Uhura…"

"Look, Kirk. We all know something's going on." He waited for the 'what the hell did you do to McCoy?' question, but it never came.

"Yeah?"

"Doctor McCoy hasn't said a word to any of us since we got back." Jim lifted his head, staring at Uhura. Was Bones ignoring _everyone?_

"It is true, captain," Jim turned to see Spock approaching, eyebrow quirked and hands clasped behind his ramrod straight back. "I have postulated that his distancing himself from the crew and yourself is a result of the stress put upon him during the Narada incident. He was, in fact, put in a position of much responsibility…"

"What are you saying, Spock? That Bones has finally cracked? Gone crazy because of the pressure of being CMO?" He took Spock and Uhura's silence as confirmation. "No, I don't… I don't think that's it. He was great as CMO. He's going to be great as CMO. I think he just needs some time to…" He didn't miss the look exchanged by Spock and Uhura. "You don't think he'll want to go on a Starship after that."

"Affirmative."

Uhura looked concerned. "You know better than anyone that he hates space. Maybe he's trying to tell us that he doesn't want to be in space. Maybe it was too much, all that death…" The subject of death on the mission was something none of them breached. It was uncomfortable and brought a lump to Jim's throat.

"He does have aviophobia, does he not?" Jim nodded once, pushing a hand through his hair. He never… He always thought that Bones would go where he went, into space, be his CMO… Jim didn't even know if he was going to be able to keep his captain status, anyway. _Damn it, Bones._

"Yeah… Yeah, I'll talk to him." Uhura glared and Spock raised an eyebrow. "I _will_. Someone's got to, anyway."

* * *

Yeah, that whole talking thing? That didn't work out at all, because Bones was hell bent on not speaking to him. Maybe shoving him into an alley wasn't the best course of action, after all. It had been three weeks since they returned from the mission. They had three months until graduation.

That third week was when shit hit the fan.

Jim still had that weird feeling of something being missing each time he stepped into his room. Each time he walked in, it felt emptier and emptier even though none of his things had been touched. It was that third week that it finally hit him. It was that third week that it was too late.

After a long day of classes, Jim went to a quieter bar than the usual to unwind. Scotty had joined him and had easily taken his mind off of graduation, Bones and all his other problems. He ended up staying later than he meant to and returned to his dorm room at one o'clock in the morning. He took two steps into the room and then froze.

The room was _empty_.

Well, not all of it.

More specifically, _Bones'_ side of the room was empty. His bed was stripped, drawers on the dresser were all pulled out and empty, and the closet door was thrown open. Empty, empty, _empty._

Jim's stomach dropped as he took in the bizarre sight. There was no trace of Bones at all, like no one else had lived in the room except for Jim. Jim barely registered that his breathing had accelerated and his eyes were stinging. His legs felt like jelly as he walked slowly towards the bed that Bones usually occupied, as if he were afraid Bones would pop up from behind some surface and scare the shit out of him. He waited, he hoped, he _prayed_ for Bones to come charging in but it never happened.

Jim didn't know how long he just stood there, taking in the sheer silence of the room. The darkness of abandonment closed in on Jim and he was vaguely aware of dropping to his knees beside Bones' bed and clutching at the bare mattress, shoulders shaking as the realization that someone had left him _again_ finally sunk in.

Bones was gone.

Fingernails dug into the mattress as Jim's body heaved in loud, shameless sobs. His face was pressed into the mattress and he bit into the bitter material to keep from crying out. He wasn't really crying for _Bones_. He wasn't really _crying_, he was _upset_, damn it. At least, that's what he told himself to make it seem less pathetic. He was _upset_ because it brought up all the other memories; of his mother walking out the door and not looking back. Of his brother creeping past his room, unaware that Jim was awake and watching him as Sam crept down the stairs, out the door and was gone. Of Bones smiling with his ex-wife and little girl, turning his back on Jim to walk away with them into the sunset. Of Bones gently pressing the hypospray into his neck and looking at him with apathy.

Jim only stopped when he felt his hand clench something that _wasn't_ mattress. He raised his head and brought his hand to his face, staring at what was in his hand. It was a little strip of paper with Bones' unmistakable handwriting on it.

_I'm sorry, kid. Don't do anything stupid._

_McCoy_

He didn't sign as Bones. It was McCoy. No first name, just a last name. He didn't even put 'Jim' anywhere on the two-sentence note. Jim's hand closed into a fist around the note and he stood up, running out the door before he knew what he was doing. He didn't stop running even when his lungs burned; even when he felt his legs threaten to give out. He didn't slow until he could no longer stand upright. He collapsed backwards, breathing harshly and hunching over into himself like a scared, defenseless child. He felt his body come in contact with something hard and solid, cold. He looked around and felt his chest tighten as warm liquid slipped over his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks.

_Starfleet Medical_.

With a frustrated yell, slammed his fists down onto the hard concrete as a light drizzle of rain began to fall. Wild blue eyes shone with the fever of a madman as he leaned back against the cold steps, letting the rain wash over him, drowning him and mixing with his God forsaken tears, hot mixing with cold, fire mixing with ice.

He fell asleep there with Bones' goodbye clenched in his fist. He let his own goodbye be washed away by the rain on his lips, stinging his body and drowning him in it's own gentle, apathetic way.


	4. Nine O'Clock on a Saturday Night

**AN: Aha! A not-too-angsty chapter! I tried to lace some humor into this chapter… And the adventure begins! Jim has to go in search of Bones while facing a few troubles of his own and meeting some deeply strange people along the way. I have a coupe surprises in store for you all… Stay tuned! By the way, I am SO happy! I'm getting a lot of great feedback. Seriously. You guys keep me going. Thanks so much!**

* * *

_It's nine o'clock on a Saturday_

_The regular crowd shuffles in_

_There's an old man sitting next to me, makin' love to his tonic and gin_

_He says, "Son, can you play me a memory? I'm not really sure how it goes,_

_But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes."_

Jim was, to put it simply, pissed off. Not only was Bones stubbornly refusing to answer Jim's calls or call him back, he apparently hadn't bothered to tell _anyone_ why he left or _where_ he was heading. Well, it was either Bones didn't tell anyone or people were being tight-lipped about it. Jim talked to everyone from the staff at Starfleet Medical to Keenser to the Admirals. The people at Starfleet Medical knew next to nothing, saying that he requested leave a few weeks before. They knew nothing about his location.

Keenser wasn't much help, seeing as he didn't talk too much, but Jim knew that Bones had a little soft spot for the guy. Even though Jim badgered, pestered, pleaded and bribed, he got nothing out of the small alien except for a glass of Scotty's ridiculously strong whiskey. While that was welcome enough, it still wasn't what Jim was looking for.

The Admirals were about as helpful as a sloth would be if it were his First Officer on the _Enterprise_. They dodged his questions, they put him off, they ignored all his questions and it was downright frustrating. They wouldn't tell him a thing about Bones, saying "he shouldn't be so concerned" and that "Doctor McCoy would have told him if he wanted him to know" and other bullshit that Jim didn't buy. Maybe they really didn't know. Maybe they were just screwing with him.

_Yeah, they're just screwing with me._

Needless to say, Jim's Bones-less first week was awful and it wasn't even _truly_ Bones-less because of Jim's insistence and perseverance in the subject. Monday through Friday, he trekked from one person to the next, asking them about Bones or, as in Scotty's case, asking them to have a drink with him.

Jim Kirk _could_, on occasion, be rational. He knew that if he were alone, he'd no doubt get into trouble, which _really_ was the _last_ thing he wanted to do. If he wanted to have _any_ chance of keeping the _Enterprise_ and captaining her, he _had_ to be on his best behavior, even if it was really, really boring. Which it _was_. So, whenever he couldn't get a hold of someone to interrogate or drink with him, he was in his room, busy trying to get a hold of Bones. Most of them were serious and short, simple 'dude, call me back's but when he got bored… Well, he was prone to leaving lengthier, more creative messages.

"Bones. Boooooooones. BonesBonesBones. Bones. Hey, I bet I could make a song out of your name… Eh… Never mind. I'm _bored_ Bones. Call me back, jerkface."

Or something like:

"God_dammit_, Bones! I'm a future Starfleet Captain, not your fucking girlfriend! Why the hell am I even calling you anymore? Dude, you owe me _big_ time. I can't believe I'm doing this. I mean, _you_ left _me_. I should be out getting laid or something. Get your ass into gear and _call_ me already. _Jesus_."

Or after a few hours of that, at around eight thirty at night and when he was too tired for his own good, the messages would get a little stranger.

"Hey… _Yikes_. What is this? The millionth time I've called you? You'd better not be dead, asshole. If you are, I'm gonna kill you. Bones. C'mon. Pick _up_, damn it. … I haven't gotten laid in a week. A _week_, Bones, because I'm so damn busy trying to get you on the phone, which you are _ignoring_, by the way. But hey, I'm getting kind of good at this… So called 'celibacy' thing. Maybe I should become one of those monks." Here, Jim paused and snorted. "Okay, _not_ happening. Oh! Uhura told me to tell you to come back. I think Spock even misses you. No one gets to call him a green-blooded hobgoblin anymore. I tried, but he just kind of raised an eyebrow and basically said I didn't do it right. So… Yeah. Come back. Call me back. Bye"

That was his last message of the night and Jim flopped on his bed with a loud groan. When had life gotten so messed up? Everything was fine right up until the crazy Romulans decided that they hated everyone and wanted to blow everyone except Romulus up. Well, they had wanted to turn everyone into a black hole, but that wasn't the point. The Earth is safe one day and the next it feels like Jim's world is crumbling down. He just didn't get how that was fair.

He remembered an old saying someone had once told him. "You never know what you got 'til it's gone, Jimmy. You remember that." It might've been his Gran, it could have been his own mother (though he doubted _that_) but he'd never really believed in the words. They'd never applied to him before.

But now? Now, Bones was gone and Jim didn't realize how much he liked the doctor until he just up and left. While a threat of someone upchucking on oneself would usually disgust a normal person, Jim had seen as some kind of offer of friendship. Besides, only friends threw up on each other and Bones _actually_ doing so had sealed the deal. Plus, he had fixed Jim up after the shuttle ride as an apology.

Of course, once Bones let Jim into his room for some ointment, Jim never left. Jim had, essentially, forced Bones' roommate out of his room and had directed him to what was supposed to be Jim's room and had, after knowing Bones for all of two hours, nestled himself into Bones' life so completely that he didn't notice when Bones did the same. For three whole years, Jim was convinced that Bones just kept him around to get over the divorce and that Jim was the one that had pushed himself into Bones' life, not the other way around. He figured that if Bones wanted him to, Jim would be able to leave him alone, just like that.

Apparently, it was the other way around.

Bones had weaved himself into Jim's life just as much as Jim had bulldozed into Bones'. He was more subtle and was gentler than Jim in his actions, like making going out for Thanksgiving dinner to a shady Chinese restaurant into a tradition, going with Jim to bars and controlling the alcohol intake, preventing Jim from fighting and dragging his drunk ass back home. And, as much as Jim hated to admit it, it was clear that he depended on Bones as much as Jim thought Bones was dependent on him.

_He didn't depend on you, Jim, you idiot. He __**left**_.

Well, _that_ was a wakeup call if there ever was one. Jim checked his comm. one more time before getting up off of his bed, grabbing his jacket and making his way out of the room. It was nine o'clock on a Saturday, and at nine o'clock on a Saturday, there was one place, no matter _what_, he had to go.

* * *

The bar was warm and familiar and everything Jim needed. He was without Bones and that was enough to put a little pang of _this is really not right_ into Jim's mind. He considered walking out, but the bartender spotted him and waved him over while he cleaned a glass. He and Bones were regulars. This was _their_ time on _their_ day that they came to _this_ bar and without Bones... Well, it felt all wrong.

However, against his better judgment, Jim walked to the bar and settled himself on a stool. He leaned on the bar, grimacing as he looked to his right and saw the empty space that Bones was supposed to fill.

He just couldn't _understand_ it, which was much too frustrating in its own right. Jim was used to getting things, he was used to knowing and understanding quickly. Everything usually fit into some sort of pattern. Jim fit into a pattern himself, hence the traditions he and Bones had made; like the bar he was currently in. _I shouldn't be here_, he told himself as he ordered a beer, ignoring the way the bartender's eyes flashed to Jim's right, obviously looking for his companion. Jim was hoping, _praying_, that the man wouldn't bring Bones' absence.

He didn't and Jim sat in silence for an hour, occasionally sipping at his drink. _Don't feel like getting drunk_, he thought to himself. He really didn't want to have a hangover the next day, nor did he have anyone to help him home this time. That thought in itself was depressing, and Jim took a long swig of his drink, grimacing a little as he did so. He was _lonely_, damn it, and Jim Kirk shouldn't be _lonely_. He had cadets falling all over him at his beck and call. _That's,_ he thought belatedly, _probably the reason why Bones picked this place. Not a Cadet Red in sight._

"Kid, you okay?" The bartender was leaning against the bar when Jim looked up, watching him with wary eyes.

"M'fine." It was a feeble lie at best, but Jim wasn't in the mood to flash his charming smile and talk it off. No, he wasn't going to be charming Jim tonight. He was just going to be James T. Kirk, someone who _didn't_ want to get drunk, someone who _was_ actually lonely. He owed himself that much. _No pretending tonight,_ he said firmly to himself, _tonight, just be yourself_. So, if the bartender was going to push, Jim was going to give. He owed himself that.

The bartender in question (oh, God, Jim didn't even know his _name_) just snorted and shook his head. "Fine my ass, kid. Where's your friend?" Oh, sucker punch to the gut. Thanks a lot, unnamed-bartender-mind-reader-guy.

Jim shrugged, coming by it honestly as he took another swig of his beer, more out of habit than thirst. "Dunno."

"Whaddya _mean_ 'dunno'?"

"Means I don't know where the hell he is, that's what it means," Jim growled in a very clear 'drop-it-or-I-_will_-harm-you' tone of voice. He was _not_ in the mood for a good 'heart-to-heart' with this stranger. The guy didn't even _know_ him and Jim was much too used to that. Kirk being his last name, people knew him because of his father. They immediately assumed that he was just like his dad. They were always let down.

Bones was the only one who hadn't cared about his goddamn last name. The first time he learned Jim's name, he was more concerned about Jim drinking up all of his good liquor after he had taken a particularly long sip.

"Ah… Left, did he?" Jim opted not to answer, instead pushing his half-empty beer away from him and turning in his chair, focusing his gaze on the stage where someone was playing the guitar and singing. Bones had liked the bar for the live performances. Jim had liked it because of the alcohol. It was a win-win situation. Now, listening to the songs Bones had enjoyed made Jim want to throw up or punch someone. And if that bartender kept _staring_ at him like that, Jim was _definitely_ going to punch someone.

"Drop it, man," he warned, not even sparing a glance to the bartender. He heard the chuckle and clenched his hands into fists, then unclenched. No, no fighting… Clench. Unclench. _Breathe_. "It's none of your business." Clench. Unclench. _Breathe_.

Clench. Unclench. _Breathe. _"Don't pander to me, kid." Clench. Unclench. _Bre–__**freeze**__._ The phrase was familiar and Jim snapped his head up to look at the bartender, eyes wide and looking like if he just stared hard enough or looked that surprised that Bones would magically appear in lieu of the bartender.

It didn't happen. _Breathe_. Jim ran a hand over his face and groaned, turning back to face the bar and the bartender. _I need to get his name after this._ "Dunno what you want me to say."

"Want to tell me what happened? I never seen you in here without him. Never saw him in here without you. Noticed somethin' was wrong the moment you walked in, kid. You've been staring into your beer bottle for over an hour. Guessed it was about time you needed to talk about it." Jim snorted, shook his head and laughed a bitter little laugh.

"Yeah? Why would I talk to _you_? I don't know you. You don't know me. I don't trust you."

"Never said you had to trust me, kid. I'm a bartender. I get people telling me their stories all the time. M'used to it." The man stood up straight again, got a glass out and poured some water into it, slid it to Jim and then moved away for a bit, chatting with some of the others at the bar for a while. Jim sipped at the water gratefully, staring straight ahead, his mind carefully blank. A few people had tried to get him to talk about whatever was going on in his mind because of Bones leaving. However, those people were also his crewmembers and he _really_ didn't want any of them thinking he was unstable because of it.

"You look like a hundred ton weight is on your brain. Just talk, kid. I'm not gonna judge." The bartender was back, leaning back against the bar, staring at Jim.

"I…" There was a long pause in which Jim tried to make sense of his scrambled thoughts. The man was offering to listen. He was there, he would listen and wouldn't interrupt and he _wouldn't_ judge.

So, Jim opened his mouth and began to talk. He talked about Bones and he talked about how they met ("He really did throw up on me, too. He blamed it on the turbulence. I still say he really just can't handle his own liquor"). He talked about their three years at the Academy, outlined their adventures ("He chased me around the room with a hypo in hand for ten minutes after that. People still call him sometimes. They couldn't get the number completely off the wall. The "call for a good time" hasn't faded yet. I don't think my neck will ever be the same, either") and he told him about the Narada incident ("Can't believe he snuck me on board. I guess it was a good thing, or else we'd all be dead… Never got him to tell me why he didn't just leave me behind, though").

He told him about Bones leaving ("He didn't talk to me about it at _all_. There was no warning. I just… I don't know what I did. I don't know what I can do to make it better. He needs to come back. _I _know that. I just don't know how I can get _him_ to see that he needs to come back"). True to his word, the bartender didn't say a word during his monologue. There was an instant, however, that he picked up a phone, dialed a number and spoke softly into it for a moment, but it didn't stop Jim.

The man looked at Jim quietly for a moment and then paid very close attention to the glass he was cleaning. "I'm sorry, kid." Jim expected himself to bristle at the words, since he was never the one to accept condolences, but he couldn't find it in himself to. He only sighed, shoulders slumping as he stared dejectedly down at the top of the bar.

"I know."

"But, kid, you can't give up now." Jim's head snapped up to look at the stranger, eyes narrowing incredulously. The subject needed to be dropped. "You give up now, he'll think you just don't care anymore. People like him who run… They run for a _reason_. If he really is your best friend like you say, he needs you. He just doesn't know it yet, probably. You must'a really pissed him off." Jim just kept staring. "I get to know a lot of types of people, kid. I know your type and I know his type just as well. Don't stop trying."

Jim pondered this a bit, shrugged and ended the conversation with 'sure, yeah, whatever'. When the bartender turned to move away, however, Jim found himself blurting out, "Do you like your life?"

"Sure do, kid."

"I mean… You never thought you were cut out for something… Different? Better?" The question earned him a chuckle and a shake of the bartender's head.

"I could'a been a doctor, kid. I've got the brains for it. But really, with my job here, I help a whole lot of people. More than a doctor does, sometimes. Sure, I don't know how to patch someone up or save a life, but I like my job. There's no place I'd rather be."

Jim started to laugh until he realized that he was serious. He started to frown until he realized that the bartender had helped Jim himself. He started to smile because there was nothing else he could do.

* * *

It was shortly after the nice little 'heart-to-heart' chat with the bartender that the space to the right of Jim was suddenly occupied.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of hope as he turned to look at the person beside him––

Only to come face to face with an amused looking Admiral Pike. Just-very-recent-Admiral-Pike. The bartender smiled at Pike and nodded. "Thanks for comin' down here, Sir."

"Thank you for calling me."

Jim was utterly baffled. "B-but I'm not in a fight! I'm not even _drunk!_" This earned him an amused chuckle from Pike who shifted in his wheelchair and shook his head.

"Yes, that's why I'm down here, Kirk. _Because_ you're not in a fight. _Because_ you're not drunk."

"I… Don't understand. At _all_. Sir."

"Well, see, you're always getting drunk here. You practically drool on the bar before your buddy drags you out. When I noticed you weren't drinkin', I called Admiral Pike. I'm told to report if something's wrong, see," piped the bartender helpfully. He whistled away, gone to bother another of his patrons while Jim stared incredulously at Pike.

"You have me _followed_?"

"No, I look out for you."

"You practically _stalk_ me." Pike shook his head and rolled his eyes and Jim struggled not to do the same. "But whatever," he went on, dropping the subject and getting right to the heart of the matter, "why the hell are you here?"

Something that _could_ be called mischief sparkled in Pike's eyes until he schooled his expression into the 'I'm the goddamn Captain _Admiral_ and you'd better listen to every word I say or so help me God, I will throw you into the next black hole I come across' look.

"I have some orders for you, Kirk." Jim blinked, frowning. He was still in _school._ How could he have a_ mission?_

"Sir?"

"Doctor McCoy." Jim felt his chest tighten again at Bones' name. Clench. Unclench. _Breathe_.

"What about him, Sir?"

"Well, you see, Kirk, I never got to thank him for saving my life." Jim smiled a little and shook his head.

"I already know what he'd say, Sir."

"What is that?"

" 'I was just doing my goddamn job, Sir. Don't need no thanks when I just did my job.' "

"Oh? You're _sure_ he'd say that?"

"Almost certain, Sir."

"Well, I want to hear it from Doctor McCoy himself."

Jim flinched a little. "Capt–_Admiral_, Bones… Doctor McCoy… He's…"

"I _know_ he's gone, Kirk. That's where you come in."

"Me, Sir?"

"Yes. I want that goddamn doctor on the Starfleet's flagship. He's the best doctor we've got, the _Enterprise_ is the best ship we've got, and I want only the best for her."

"I don't see…"

"We need you to retrieve him." Jim _did_ bristle at Pike's choice of words.

"He's not a stick and I'm not a dog, _Sir_."

"These are _orders_, Kirk." After a moment of gaping and soundless mouth movements, Jim snapped his teeth together and nodded stiffly. Pike dropped the 'Admiral' look and the glimmer was back in his eyes. Jim sighed, running a hand over his face and trying his best to compose himself.

"Why me, Sir? Why couldn't you just go?"

"This is off the record now, Kirk."

"Okay, fine."

"You're not yourself. He's gone and you're not yourself. If you want to be a captain, you need to be James T. Kirk, the one we saw, the one who saved the world. Not this… Depressed version of him."

"I am _not_ depressed."

"Then get your ass out and find your friend! Get reckless. Get smart. Hack into computer systems. _Find_ him. You're not really _trying_." Jim slammed his hand down on the bar top.

"I _am_ trying, damn it!"

"Jim, if you were trying, he'd be back here by now and I wouldn't need to be saying this to you." Jim started at the use of his name by Pike. It was unexpected but not unwelcome. He knew, somewhere in the back of his jumbled mind that Pike looked out for him. He was a good man.

"He's not talking to me. I'm trying not to force him. He's not going to listen."

"You'll _make_ him listen, Kirk. You made _me_ listen. You made _Spock_ listen. You can make McCoy listen."

"I don't… Sir, I don't know…"

"Look, I'm going to tell you what you're going to do, Kirk. You're going to find him, kick him in the balls for leaving and then you're going to bring him _back_. If you can't do that, you can't handle being a Starfleet captain." Jim shook his head and chuckled a little.

"We done?"

Was that a smile on Pike's face? "I'm done." With that, he rolled away and out the door. Jim stared at his retreating form, and then shook his head in bewilderment. He looked up and met the bartender's gaze.

"Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically, putting down some credit chips on the table and putting his jacket back on.

"Good luck, kid."

"Yeah… What's your name?"

"Ah, you don't need to know." Jim Kirk walked out of the bar with an order to kick his best friend's balls and drag him back to Starfleet with the words of the nameless bartender in his mind.

_Only you, Jim Kirk. Only you._

Is it bad when your conscience starts sounding like your best friend? Jim doesn't know. When he walks into his room, his hair is a little damp from the slight drizzle of rain and he's a little cold, but that doesn't stop him from walking to his comm. immediately and calling Bones one more time that night.

"Just thought I'd give you a fair warning. I'm coming for you, Leonard McCoy and I'm _going_ to find you. You aren't going to be able to run and hide anymore. If I have to search the entire damn country, I will, and don't think for a second that I won't." He paused and grinned. "Buckle up, Bones." A duffel bag filled with the necessary clothes was packed in record time, ready to be picked up as he walked out the door the next morning.

Jim was asleep before his head hit the pillows. He fell asleep with his damp clothes on, on top of the covers with only the soft sound of rain to keep him company. And while it couldn't even begin to compare to Bones' grumbling, it was enough.


End file.
